


Shockwave

by staticbees



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Flashpoint (DCU), Gen, M/M, if i do i'll add character tags accordingly, my next fic isn't focusing just on cisco i swear, shameful amounts of canon dialogue, sorry cisco you got the short end of the stick again, this is going to have another chapter. hopefully. assuming i finish it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 23:21:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13018353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: It’s been two years since the particle accelerator exploded, since he metBarry AllenWally West, since his world got turned upside downand on its side, and Cisco Ramonwouldn’t go back for the worlddesperately wishes everything was back to normal.Or… wait. Is that how it happened?Or: the fic where Flashpoint!Cisco slowly begins to remember the previous timeline. And really wishes he wasn't.





	Shockwave

Sometimes, Cisco Ramon dreamt about another life.

 

It started after the particle accelerator exploded. Harrison Wells’ fall from grace was his ascent to greatness. He bought STAR Labs from the disgraced scientist and his wife, and made it his own, turning it into something new, something bigger and better and brighter than before.

 

He distanced it from the scandal that had brought along its downfall, even renamed it to reflect the change. _Ramon Industries_. The name had a ring to it, he thought.

 

He had everything he ever wanted; money, fame, adoration. His brother resented him, but that couldn’t be helped; he was just jealous of Cisco’s success, of the fact that _he_ used to be the golden child in their family, before being pushed aside by his younger brother. Cisco’s parents loved him, of course; they would’ve preferred a different career path, but he was wealthy, and talented, and finally living up to his full potential.

 

He wasn’t doing anything that could put his career in jeopardy, was garnering public favor through fundraisers and donations, following all the guidelines for a successful public figure whose name would be known for years to come.

 

Cisco thought nothing could touch him.

 

That all came crashing down two years after the particle accelerator exploded. He began to have dreams - nightmares - that he couldn't explain. They felt like blinks of another version of himself, like a funhouse mirror, twisted and wrong but still utterly, undeniably _him_.

 

He'd wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart pounding, hands clutching at his sheets, from the dreams he wished he didn’t remember, in the morning. A man standing over him, with glowing red eyes, and an echoing, distorted voice, taunting him until he broke ( _you worked for him for years, looked up to him,_ trusted _him, and he betrayed you without a second thought_ _–_ _)_ eyes cold as Cisco collapsed on the ground, choked, helpless. A sharp, aching pain in his chest, words hissed through gritted teeth, a stab of fear, like an icicle through the heart. Flicker flashes of stage lights, bright, burning his eyes with their harshness as the world around him spun in a dizzying spiral, tinted a thundercloud blue.

 

He wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep after those, instead staying up and busying himself with work, trying to pretend like everything was normal, like he wasn’t living another life every time he fell asleep.

 

Then there were other dreams, the ones that gave him a kind of distant nostalgia, as if he’d actually experienced them before, even though he couldn’t have, because he didn’t know anyone in them, would never do the things they were doing. He knew they weren't real, but he still felt the moments, as they happened - doubling over with laughter at a joke ( _a pun, probably his own_ _–_ _Barry wouldn't speak to him for a whole day after the unfortunately timed ice puns incident a few months back_ ), eating popcorn on his couch with a woman ( _Catherine? Carrie?_ ) while they watched a horror movie, teasing each other for being scared, with grease and salt stained fingertips, sitting at a bar with Barry ( _how did he know that name, who the hell was Barry_ _–_ ), talking late into the night, until he grew faded and thin and tired ( _Dante had almost gotten killed and Cisco hadn’t been able to help and now he was mixed up in this too, and as much as he resented his brother he never wanted to see him hurt)_ , and Barry drove him home, eyes bright and hazel green in the glow of the streetlights.

 

He wasn't the CEO of Ramon Industries in these dreams, was barely working enough to get by, but was somehow still, strangely, happier than he’d ever been. Of course, that didn’t last outside of his dreams, and when he'd wake up he'd wonder incredulously how he could ever be so optimistic when he didn't even have enough money to own his own car.

 

Eventually, it got worse. Even though he hadn’t experienced what his other self had, bits and pieces started to leak into his own life. He clung to what was real and tried to push away rest, the names and faces swimming behind his eyelids, but he could barely distinguish the waking world from his dreams anymore.

 

He would fall asleep during the day from pulling all-nighters, eyes dark and sunken. When he closed his eyes, he saw his dreams flashing behind the dark red burning of his eyelids, as if they were real, as if they were _memories._

 

He tried going to therapists, to psychologists, taking sleep medicine and painkillers and drugs that quieted his thoughts and numbed his mind, desperate for something, anything, to fix it, to go back to how life had been _before_. Nothing helped.

 

He was trying to fix a flaw in the design of one of his tech apps when he doubled over, a sharp pain in the back of his skull like shards of glass. There was a ringing in his ears, and his breaths were shallow, strained.

 

His vision began to grow dark, spots dancing in front of his eyes, and he clutched his head. He crumpled to the ground, curling up into a ball like it would do anything to help stop the pain, as the world slipped away.

 

When he woke up, he was lying on the ground, head aching. He pushed himself up, leaned on the counter to catch his balance.

 

Something felt… off, like copper and electricity on his tongue, lightning in the air. He felt like he was going to tear apart, vibrations shuddering under his skin. His hands trembled like the dying flutter of a bird’s wings, and he stumbled backwards, legs wobbly.

 

When the shaking finally stopped, his hands tingled with pins and needles, like buzzing static under his skin.

 

The vibrations were gone, and the smell of sparking wires had faded, like they had never been there in the first place.

 

Maybe they hadn’t, he thought dully to himself. Maybe he was just going crazy.

 

+

 

He’s not sure why they’re back here again, but he wants them to go away.

 

“Okay, listen to me, Mr. Ramon,” Iris pleads. “We need your help. I’m sure you’ve seen the Rival on TV. He is terrorizing the city to prove that he’s the fastest. I mean, God only knows what he’s gonna do next. We have to stop him.”

 

Cisco glances up at Iris, irritated. “Okay, so stop him,” he says flatly. “Please, go with God, have fun. But you know what? You know what happens when you mess with a speedster?”

 

He holds up his hand, vibrating it like a speedster would, and lightly hits her shoulder. “That. That’s what happens. You get a vibrating hand going right through your ribcage.” Cisco pauses. “No thanks.” He takes a bite of one of the carrots, and starts to walk away.  “My money needs me.”

 

He stiffens at a sudden flash of aching pain in his chest, like his heart is being ripped out. The air tastes like static electricity, quivering with vibrations, like jello wobbling on a spoon. _Not now, not again, not_ here _–_

 

There’s a shadow in a yellow suit looming over him, and he can feel tears running down his cheeks as he crumples to the floor, choked, helpless _–_

 

But then he blinks, and it’s gone. Just another waking dream. They’ve been getting more frequent in the last few weeks, despite the fact that they’ve been going on for at least three months now. He frowns, decides to dismiss it as lack of sleep. Right now, he has bigger fish to fry.

 

“Wait, Cisco, you’re not gonna help us?” the other one asks, sounding incredulous.

 

“That’s _–_ ” Cisco cuts himself off, realization dawning on him. That was why the man looked so familiar ( _eyes a bright hazel green, taillights from the car ahead of them tinting the street scarlet, snowflakes melting on the windshield_ _–_ ), why he recognized his voice. “Wait,” he says, dread curling in his stomach. “You’re the person from my dream.”

 

He doesn’t want the nightmares to be real, doesn’t want them to _mean_ anything, but the proof that they do is standing right here in front of him.

 

The man ( _metahuman_ ) glances at him, looking confused. “What?”

 

“I _–_ ” He stops. “You know what? That’s not important right now.” He swore he wouldn’t tell anyone about the dreams. Why should he tell some stranger ( _Barry Allen, the Flash, your_ friend) who waltzed into his lab with _the Flash_ ( _no, that’s_ wrong, _Wally isn’t the Flash, he’s not even a speedster, just a_ kid _–_ ) by his side, asking for help with _metahumans_? He points at the man accusingly. “Who the hell are you? Huh?” He scowls at Iris. “You brought some stranger into my lab and told them I helped The Flash.”

 

“Cisco _–_ ”

 

“Uh-uh. I don't know you, string bean.”

 

“Str...” The man clasps his hands together. “Mr. Ramon.”

 

Cisco glances up. “Oh, yes?”

 

“I _do_ know what kind of person you are,” he says earnestly. “Deep down, you care about helping other people.”

 

He crosses his arms. ”Please, tell me more.”

 

“I heard a story about how, when you were 15, your brother Dante owed a bookie and he couldn't pay back what he owed, so you gave him all the money you earned that summer delivering pizzas to help him.”

 

Cisco tenses up. “How do you know about that?”

 

“I have a feeling that... we would work really well together as partners. Taking down metahumans together, I mean, it's what we're supposed to do. We're a team. We’re _friends_ ,” he finishes, and Cisco stiffens. He makes it sound like they _know_ each other, when he’s never even seen the guy before today.

 

How had he known that story, about Dante? _(Because you told him yourself,)_ a voice whispers, _(Sitting at a bar, late at night, staring into your drink like it was the answer to all your problems. There was an empty, aching feeling in your chest, like someone had carved out your heart and replaced it with steel. Barry sat on the barstool next to you, eyes downcast, both of you weighed down with exhaustion and guilt. It was snowing outside, the sky clouded and grey, and you knew by the time you left, the roads would be slick with ice.)_

 

He frowns. _No, that never happened. I would remember_ _._

 

“Cisco?” the man pleads.

 

Cisco scowls at him. “We’re not _friends._ We’re not partners. I’ve never met you before in my life.”

 

“Please, Cisco, you have to listen to me _–_ ”

 

“No.” he snaps. “I'm _done_ listening to you. Any of you. All you've done is make my life a thousand times worse than it was before I met you.” Cisco glares at them. “Now get _out_ of my lab.”

 

“No, you don’t understand," the man starts frantically, “You _know_ me, we _worked together_ , we’re _–_ ”

 

He inhales sharply, and doubles over, clutching his head.

 

“Barry? What’s wrong?” Iris says, sounding panicked.

 

Barry looks up at her, eyes wide. “I'm okay. I'm okay, I just…” He stops, confusion leaking into his voice. “What was I... what was I just saying?”

 

“What is going on with you?” Iris asks softly.

 

“I'm not sure,” he says shakily. He glances at them. “I have to go talk to someone. I’ll be right back.” Before Iris can respond, he stands up from where he’s sitting, and rushes out of the room.

 

“Barry, wait, where are you _–_ ” Iris sighs. “And he’s gone.”

 

Cisco stares at the spot Barry standing was a second before, bemused.

**Author's Note:**

> said unfortunately timed ice puns incident definitely involved a certain captain cold


End file.
